


What is this place?

by Amymel86



Series: What is this place? [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon era Jon in modern times, Dimension Travel, F/M, Jonsa Summer Challenge, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-11-13 11:12:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11183934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amymel86/pseuds/Amymel86
Summary: What if canon era Jon suddenly awoke in the modern day world?





	What is this place?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FedonCiadale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FedonCiadale/gifts), [Steila](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steila/gifts).



> Yeah - so this is a bit of a reverse of 'Just Viewing' - I hope you like it!!
> 
> This piece will be comprised of vignettes - the second (and possibly third) vignette will be posted during the 'Jonsa Summer Challenge' over on tumblr (hosted by @jonsa-creatives).
> 
> Thank you FedonCiadale and Steila for indulging in my 'what would Jon think of the modern day world' discussions :-)

It was as if Jon's head had been battered with something solid and heavy. His tongue was thick in his mouth and his limbs felt foreign. He stumbled, clutching onto something solid and upright, it was like a trunk of a slim tree, only it was smooth and rather cold when he'd leant his forehead against it to try and catch his breath.

"Hey buddy, you alright"? he heard someone call out. He screwed his eyes shut and shook his head. Jon did not recognise the voice and the accent was strange. Not northern. He blinked rapidly at the source of the voice when another one reached his eardrums. "Just leave him, Scott, he looks like a right weirdo".

The blur that had been the owner of the first voice got tugged away by the blur of the second and Jon felt sure that he was alone again. Where had he been? The Godswood. With Sansa. They were praying. They'd had a few too many days of tedious and infuriating council meetings with the Northern Lords and he had needed to clear his head. He had not meant to pray - he knew that there would be no celestial being listening to his words anyway. But when he'd happened upon Sansa knelt, head bowed at the foot of the watching weirwood, it had felt right to join her. He had crunched his boots over to her in the snow, Sansa had acknowledged him briefly with a smile and then continued in whatever askance she was attempting to place before the old Gods.

Once he had joined her, kneeling there in the snow, he had begun to pray. He couldn't even remember what for - but he had. He only remembers that he'd been sure that this time, someone was listening, someone was receiving his prayers. He sensed the eyes of the tree on him and had felt like the branches were closing in on him, intent on smothering the life from his breath. And yet he could not move.

Suddenly Sansa was not beside him, the colourless sky had turned an alarming oppressive dark grey - much like during the most violent of storms. What had started off as the winds whipping past his ears had quickly morphed into whispers, loud and numerous - too much to make out any intelligent words. They rushed and they rushed from within his head, the sky grew darker still, until it quickly became as black as night.

He had awoke to find himself on his back. He blinked his eyelids in quick succession at the incoming light. It was everywhere and so, so bright. He felt disorientated. There was no longer snow underfoot, the red of the weirwood leaves had made way for lush greens and the gloomy dark skies had been replaced by a cheery blue that reminded him of something.

As he was clinging to the not-tree, he found his sight gradually becoming clearer. He continued his rapid blinking as if that would hurry along the process. Once his vision seemed fully restored, Jon tried to make sense of his surroundings. There were trees - real ones, not like the thing his trembling hands were holding on to - and grass, and yet it was not a wood, it was some large garden of sorts. Why was he here? How did he get here? Did he grow ill? Did his men try to move him to somewhere to heal? If so, where are they? Why is he alone? And why is it so bloody hot in his furs? Where has all the snow gone? South. He must be South. But why?

Jon wrinkled his nose as the air in this place seemed to be permeated with something other than what he is used to. It was a strange scent - not unlike that of the smithy. 

As he worked to even out his breathing, his raspy breaths becoming less and less a distraction in his ears, he noticed the noises. They were not that of chirping birds or tittering maids taking a turn about the strange garden, but a large collective murmur or hum of some hoard of beasts somewhere beyond the garden. He left the odd not-tree, taking one last glance up to see that it had but one branch that ended in a strange bulbous shape, and stumbled blindly towards the noise.

There was a stone wall with railings that encompassed the garden, and on that stone wall was a plaque that read _'Godswood Park_ '. The lettering was in gold on a dark green sheet of metal. The phrasing beneath puzzled him slightly _'Dogs to be kept on a leash at all times. Dog-walkers to pick up after your pets and make use of the red dog waste bins provided. Do not disrupt the flowerbeds. Picnics welcome, no BBQs'._

 The words swilled round and round in Jon's head as he tried to anchor himself to something, any fact that he could grasp ahold of that would bring some fraction of clarity. The south would not honour the Old Gods by naming an area of land _'Godswood Park' -_ that just didn't make sense.And yet he did not feel the crunch of snow beneath his feet or the bite of winter's chill on his cheeks. Where the _fuck_ is he? What is this place?

Blinking at the confusing sun, Jon grabbed hold of the railings and peered past them. There was movement - a lot of it. This must be some sort of village because there are people milling about. Jon watched them in their foreign clothing in bright colours and odd designs. There were women wearing breeches of strange materials that hugged the curves of their legs and behinds. Jon sucked in a breath when a couple walked by, the woman wearing hardly anything at all - his gaze drawn to the expanse of thigh on display. She looked to be wearing only underthings! Her arms and much of her stomach bare, and as they passed, his eyes widened at the sight of the fabric clinging to her rear. 

"I told you those little booty shorts would attract the pervs"! Jon heard the man say as he turned his head to snicker back at him.

"Oh shut up! You love my booty" the woman responded before grabbing the man and kissing him fiercely in public.

Jon had never seen such a display of both behaviour and bare flesh. Well that was a lie - he had, but at an establishment of questionable respectability.

As he was staring after the overly affectionate couple, something whooshed by making Jon jump back in surprise. The thing was on wheels but had no horse visible to pull it along. Then another and another whizzed on by, one was the colour of a bright red rose and the other was a dazzling white. The contraptions made an awful racket as the travelled and the sun reflecting off of them like it does water was almost blinding. They seemed to be transporting people like carriages - very, very strange carriages. Jon felt the need to stay put, watching and listening until he felt accustomed to his new surroundings enough to step beyond the walls of _'Godwood Park'._

As he observed, Jon began to look beyond the occasional stream of noisy horseless carriage to the buildings. They were tall and well masoned, people were passing in and out of their thresholds and many of them had the largest single window panes he had ever seen without any joinery. There was signage above some of the doorways and he supposed that this was some form of market. As his eyes scanned back and forth over the building they came to a sudden stop on a familiar shock of copper that shone through one of those vast planes of glass.

_Sansa!_

He bolted from his observation spot, running past the walls of the park and upon the even hard ground beyond it. One of the strange transport contraptions screeched to a halt at his side. He froze, staring at his reflection in the shiny black frontage. It reminded him of highly polish armour.

"HEY! WATCH WHERE YOU'RE FUCKING GOING"! A man bellowed as he hung out of his carriage. Jon gaped and then jumped out of his skin when the carriage emitted a sharp, impossibly loud horn noise. "GET OUT OF THE FUCKING WAY THEN"! the man yelled.

Gathering his breath and his shattered nerves, Jon continued on to the large window that he had seen Sansa behind. The signage above the pane of glass read _'The Old Weirwood Cafe_ '. He stood staring into the establishment. There were a few people sat at tables within the bright room. There was music drifting out of the doorway but Jon saw no minstrels.

Taking one step inside, he was enveloped by a mixture of heady scents - sweetness and warmth. "Hello"? he called out tentatively, several of the establishments patrons turned and gaped at him.

And then there she was. Her hair was swept up high on her head but not in the intricate southern styles that she favoured as a child. Her clothing was plain but no less beautiful. Jon could not help the path of his gaze as he eyed the way her thin skirt ended at her knee. _Her knee!_ She was wearing an apron with a weirwood tree stitched to the bust, it's red leaves a stark contrast to the pristine white of its fabric. She beamed a bright smile at him as she looked him up and down.

"I thought the Renaissance Fair was next week"?

 

 

 


End file.
